The Disciple
by Aldrae
Summary: Sometimes, it is not necessary for a Master to persuade his disciples to follow him. They just do. A story about Kinderhiem 511. Rated for dark themes. Warnings for child abuse. You get free cookies if you can guess who 37 is.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Monster, or Kinderhiem 511. I wouldn't know what to do with the nasty place if someone gave it to me.

The quotes here are all credited to their original sources. I did not say any of that stuff. Scary.

None of the boys are mentioned by name in this story, because at this point, none of them had names. But if you have watched monster, you can probably figure out who is who.

Spoilers for the entire anime.

_**Warning: Before you begin to read this story, please read this!**_

I am writing this story simply because it will not stay out of my head. But I must warn you. It is not a nice story, even for me.

It is about Kinderhiem 511. And as we all know, Kinderhiem 511 was no Disneyland.

Since I wrote Achilles, I have always wanted to write something about Kinderhiem. So I did a little research. These are some quotes I found very useful.

I know, I know, just humor me, please? :)

_

* * *

"__Don't compare us to 511 Kinderhiem… that place was a special orphanage under the cooperative jurisdiction of the Ministry of Health and Welfare and the Ministry of Domestic Affairs. Do you know what that means? All the internal conditions were monitored by the Ministry of Domestic Affairs, because that place was old East Germany's testing facility. It was a project to turn children into perfect soldiers. __**Psychological conditioning, research into brainwashing**__. They formed conspiracies among the orphans, and __**monitored how they hated and fought each other**__ under those circumstances. An experiment for creating a cold hearted person, one without sympathy._

_"Can you imagine what kind of people those children would turn out to be when they grew up"_

_ (Erna Tietze Episode 12)_

_

* * *

_

I did some research on brainwashing, and found this lovely gem:

_Edward Hunter, author of Brainwashing In Red China, testified in 1958 before a U.S. Congressional House Committee on Un-American Activities:_

_"Since man began, he has tried to influence other men or women to his way of thinking. There have always been these forms of pressure to change attitudes. We discovered in the past thirty years, a technique to influence, by clinical, hospital procedures, the thinking processes of human beings. Brainwashing is formed out of a set of different elements ... hunger, fatigue, tenseness, threats, violence, and in more intense cases...drugs and hypnotism. No one of these elements alone can be regarded as brain washing, any more than an apple can be called apple pie. Other ingredients have to be added, and a cooking process gone through. So it is with brainwashing..."_

* * *

Erna's comments in 'Another Monster' were far more revealing:

_"It might not be proper to speak this way, since I was involved with all that back then, but it really was dreadful. There were some orphanages that were decent places, but it was the children of anti-government and underground activists, illegal emigrants and criminal offenders... in other words, the children of "dangerous elements," that were sent to special facilities for re-education, even if they were innocent of any wrongdoing. These places were like prisons. __**The children had no privileges or rights, and they underwent abuse from the administrators day in and day out...**_

_I started right away by asking the question I most wanted to ask._

_- And Kinderheim 511 must have been the worst out of all those places you just described._

_"Oh, no. Not at all. Kinderheim 511 was... it was a government experiment. Normal orphanages were all under the jurisdiction of the Welfare Ministry. But this one was run by the Internal Department. You know what that means, don't you?"_

_- The one that was called responsible for the worst atrocities in the communist bloc, either the Internal Department or the National Security Department, correct? The secret police were run by National Security... they set up wiretaps around the country, spied on the citizens, silenced those who threatened them or spoke out for democracy, and used brainwashing to create proper, obedient communists._

_"Not only that, __**they wanted to create soldiers who would act unflinchingly in the name of national interests and ideals, just like cyborgs**__. That was where Kinderheim 511 came in. Everyone thought they must have been doing something dreadful there, because __**the fatality rate was so terribly high**__."_

Another Monster.

* * *

Hartmann himself had this to say (when he was pretending to be such a nice guy)…

_Well, all orphanages in old East Germany were more or less like that. But out of all of them, the special orphanages were just terrible. It wasn't simply a facility to house children who had no one to take care of them. It was a collection of children whose parents were felons, or political criminals caught while seeking asylum. And those whose parents were accused of treason or espionage. So discrimination and inhuman treatment was common practice. __**Children were unable to complain, no matter what was done to them… **__Fear and violence dominated the special orphanages. Children from there would not grow up to become normal, responsible adults._

Episode 11.

He would know, wouldn't he?

* * *

Oddly enough, their words were corroborated by a certain Mr. Johan Liebert himself, [not his real name, of course :)] in his conversation with Richard Braun:

"_Are you familiar with Stefan Joos' Personal history? "_

"_I think he was in some orphanage in East Germany when he was young."_

"_I think you ought to know more. This is an extremely important point when discussing him. The orphanage he was in… it was a terrible place. He was really a good kid. But he was treated horribly at the orphanage. And his mind was twisted while he stayed there; _

"_Article 6 of the Convention on the rights of the child; an Inherent right to live. Guaranteed survival and development. Article 8; the preservation of Identity. Article 19; protection from abuse. No. That Nightmarish place didn't bother giving him those rights. That place was Kinderhiem 511._

Johan Liebert (like you did not already know that :) Episode 29

And he should know, because as unusual as he undoubtedly was, there is evidence that he himself was treated little better than the other inmates of Kinderhiem.

The things he said as a child in a certain tape recording come to mind…

_"What I am most afraid of… is that…I'll forget Anna. Because __**of all these strange experiments done on me every day**__… my memories are disappearing. _

Episode 48

This is even more scary when you remember he was under drugs and being interrogated when he said this.

If that wasn't abuse, I do not know what is.

* * *

Even so, I do think he might have had a little immunity from some of the squickier kinds of abuse… at least as soon as they figured out that he was not exactly one of the other boys.

Hartman's (fanatical) opinion of the boy seems to indicate this.

"_It's true that Kinderheim 511 was a testing facility; a project for turning orphans into perfect soldiers. Looking back now, that was a meager little experiment too. What about Johan? Him, a soldier? That's Nonsense! He was born to be a leader! He was the one who should have stood at the top! There's no way we could have created a masterpiece like him! He was more than Human, A monster, from the beginning!"_

Episode 12

This means that Johan was in Kinderheim with a bunch of military/scientist/coolly fanatical types who were prepared to do all they needed to do to force him to realize what they saw as his true destiny… even if it meant brainwashing him, or eroding his free will, to make him do as they wished.

Make no mistake about it. Even Johan was abused in Kinderhiem . Perhaps in a rather different way from the other boys, but abuse is abuse.

And of course Johan really did not take too kindly to it, as we all know. Generally, he _does_ seem to have a problem with people telling him what to do, or trying to use his little sister to blackmail him into compliance.

* * *

Okay. Deep breath. Now here comes **the really disgusting** part.

Inspector Runge, in his interview in Another Monster made some interesting comments:

_- Why do some murderers kill for pleasure? I can understand that people would kill out of hate or vengeance, kill in order to steal valuables, and even in some cases kill in order to obtain food to eat. But to kill a complete stranger for the pleasure of it... this I cannot comprehend._

_"It is understandable. You are just not trying hard enough... Indiscriminate killers and lust killers, typically have unfortunate experiences in their childhood years. Usually abuse at the hands of parents or parental figures. Often, they will grow up to commit the same deeds their parents did... these are things that most people can understand. You said that you can understand those who kill out of hate. Those who murder for pleasure commit those murders out of hate for their parents, or those who abused them. Except in these cases, the target for their anger becomes more than any specific person; it will expand to all women, or all children, or all homosexuals."_

_- That's what I don't understand. They weren't abused by women, or children, or homosexuals. Why do they turn their anger on these people, rather than those who really abused them?_

_"Anger is an altered form of the desire to control others. They surrender themselves to their anger, to control someone. They don't want revenge against those who abused them. They want to force others to know the same pain that they did, they want to hold the fate of others in their hand, they want to know joy and pleasure. Sexual excitement entwines itself within all of these... and most of these crimes become sexual murders."_

_- But, wait. Are you saying that it is a combination of hate, desire for control, and sexual agitation that create indiscriminate sexual killers?_

_**"Yes. It is also true that many times the abuse these pleasure killers receive is sexual in nature... At a young age, these people have been controlled and used by their abusers like objects or tools. Even after they grow into adults, they are unable to see others as people capable of similar emotions... pain, agony, humiliation, sadness, fear. They only see animals, like guinea pigs in a science experiment. And the quickest and most effective method to subjugate these animals is sex."**_

_- Why is that?_

_"The orgasm in sex creates an instantaneous illusion that you are looking down upon yourself from a much higher vantage point, that you are in complete control of your life... It makes you feel almost as if you are a god. Those who have risen to this point can believe that they have total control over their victims."_

_- How does this advance into murder? Once the goal of sex has been achieved, surely there is no need to kill._

_"To control another person is to force your own delusions upon them. Everyone has fantasies about sex that cannot be spoken out loud. The delusions and fantasies of pleasure killers are incredibly cruel and twisted."_

_- And so an act of reproduction becomes the opposite, an act of murder..._

_"Humans assign actions that produce pleasure a type of taboo. And I believe that actions people label taboo are in a way, a form of ritual... that give people the illusion of superhuman powers... of complete control over oneself and others... to come closer to God. One is sex. The next is drugs... What do you think the last is?"_

_- (silence)_

_"The greatest taboo a human can commit... is murder."_

Runge, Another monster.

* * *

Frankly, this conversation convinced me of three things.

First, there must have been sexual abuse as well as other kinds of abuse in Kinderheim. There had to have been to produce people like Stephan Joos, Roberto and Christoff Sievernich. Even our dear Grimmer's 'Magnificent Steiner' persona is highly suspect. One of the fastest ways to make a child create such an aggressive 'other' personality is to sexually abuse him. It was clearly his way of pushing the angry, agressive, hate-filled part of himself aside, which was why we could all see the part that we came to love so much. This form of mental dissociation is sadly common among adult survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Frankly, all things considered, this dissociation was the only way anyone who survived Kinderhiem could be so genuinely nice.

Second, Johan himself might not have been actually raped, though he was probably exposed to other milder, but no less traumatizing forms of sexual abuse. He was a serial killer, but he was no lust killer. He got off on fear and chaos, not necessarily killing. There was absolutely no sexual element to his murders; and no weird pseudo-sexual deviations. (His cross-dressing was purely his mother's fault; He was comfortable in Anna's clothes because he spent a very good portion of his real childhood wearing them. Kinderheim had nothing to do with it.) Johan does not play. He simply kills people. And he does so in the most efficient manner he possibly can… when he does not just brainwash others into doing the dirty work for him.

However, Johan was definitely subjected to other forms of abuse. He had to have been. His obvious empathy for the character of Stephan Joos was a dead giveaway. And of course that tape…

* * *

There is no way I can write an accurate story about Johan and Kinderhiem without taking all these facts into consideration.

**So, if you cannot read stories with dark themes like child abuse, please, please, please, do not read this. **

You have been warned. So no flames.

And please, I honestly do not want any "I really can't see this happening to Johan" comments. It was hard enough for me to write this. I would not have done it at all if the results of my research indicated otherwise. Johan might have been a twisted genius and an adept brainwasher, but in the end, he was just a child left at the hands of evil and unscrupulous adults. Kinderhiem was the final collection of straws that broke the camel's back that was his sanity.

As Erna observed in Another Monster:

"_But I think, if at that time, someone had truly extended him a loving hand and put him in a caring home, that he would have changed, and wouldn't have gone on to commit all those crimes_."

So If you do decide to read this, all I can say is thank you for being so brave, and please review.

* * *

This story of course, is rated **M**... mostly for its squicky theme.

But you guessed that already, didn't you? :)

Enjoy, if you dare...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer- Monster is not mine. Etc. etc.**

**Rating, like I said before, M**

**Warnings… in case you did not read the notes, Child abuse, Swearing, Violence, again, I repeat, Kinderhiem was no Disney world. **

**Please Review.**

**Disciple**

**Part One**

**Sheep amidst the wolves.**

When 37 saw the new boy, his very first thought was that there was no way in hell that _that_ could actually be a boy.

The new boy stood quietly beside the visiting general. His face was very calm. His skin was as white as fresh milk… he did not have even a single scar. That was very odd. His hair was pale blond and very tidy. It had recently been trimmed. He wore a clean white shirt with tan shorts, a waistcoat, and a little blue jacket. His legs were long, pale, and slender. They looked like the legs of a girl, he smirked. The new boy wore simple brown shoes. His socks were white and clean, without a single smudge or stain. His large eyes looked almost sleepy, and were very blue. He could not have been more than eight years old.

The supervisors were all very interested in the new boy. They hovered around him like starving vultures. He really could not blame them for staring; he was only eight too, but looking at the new boy made him feel… really, really weird. It was almost creepy how pretty he was.

Mr. Hartman, the general supervisor, was staring at the boy with particularly dirty eyes.

Every boy in 511 knew that look, and what it meant. The new boy was not going to last a month. None of Hartman's favorites ever did. Hartman played rough, and he tended to break his toys… literarily. The man beat boys up as often as had sex with them. And the fact that they were his never protected them from being molested by the other Supervisors. Hartman _was_ usually very generous with his toys. The lucky ones were those who stopped being pretty real fast. Getting beat up a lot did that, and Hartman got bored when they were no longer pretty. The lucky ones had managed not to break before he became bored. They got scars from a thousand wounds, and bruises, and repeatedly broken bones, but at least they survived. The unlucky ones were sent to the state hospital with terrifying injuries and were never heard about again. One or two had broken and gone crazy. Kinderhiem 511 alone was hard to deal with. Hartmann and Kinderhiem rolled up in one would kill anyone if they had to take it for too long.

He almost pitied the new boy.

37 himself was not a particularly beautiful child. His hair was too dark to be blonde. His eyes were too grey to be blue. He had very pronounced jaws with relatively large, protruding teeth. His eyebrows were slender and very sharply angled, giving his entire face a rather hard look for someone his age. His lips were thin, sardonic and cold. They looked positively cruel when he smiled.

He was not ugly, but he was no beauty either. There was not a single cute or adorable feature on his entire body, and for this he was deeply grateful. A girly face was a curse in a place like Kinderhiem 511, and having girly legs just made it worse. Anything that made you stand out generally put you in very big trouble. Everyone knew what happened to nails that stood out. Soldiers could not be individuals. War machines could only be war machines.

It was clear to him that the new boy would never be a soldier. Not with that face. Not with that slim, milk colored body, not with those long, slender legs.

He stared. He could not help it.

Apparently his gaze was hard enough to catch the other boy's attention, because at that point the newcomer turned, and glanced over at him.

He quickly looked away.

His face felt hot. He really hoped that it was not turning red.

Still, he could not stop himself from glancing up at the new boy again.

And that was when it happened.

Their eyes met, and held. Immediately, his breath caught.

_He __saw it._

It was something inside those eyes that immediately captivated him. It was a strange and very alluring_ thing_ that he could sense living inside the other boy. It felt… it almost was… like… charisma? ... Magnetism? … Power?

No. That was not it. Those words were not enough.

He knew no words for what it was he saw.

It was deep and dark and weird and made no sense. He had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he was recklessly drawn to it. He suddenly wanted that thing he saw in the other boy more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life. He had never been the sort of child that believed in fairies, or witches, or mysterious forces, or magic, or gods that demanded awe and adoration by their mere presence. But if he had, he might have concluded that in some strange way, the boy he was looking at was one of those things.

Unconsciously, he found himself leaning forward. The act was purely instinctive. He was completely absorbed by the other boy, and too utterly entranced by what he was seeing inside him to notice the fact that his body had moved. The raw, almost desperate yearning on his own face would have appalled him if he had known it was there.

The new boy smiled at him. It was a cold, quietly scornful smile, as beautiful as it was contemptuous.

His breath caught. He jerked back as if he had been slapped.

Then his eyes narrowed, and he glared.

The new boy was unfazed by his furious glare. His smile merely became amused, and then clearly dismissive. He turned away to listen to what the General was saying.

37 was furious.

And to think he had almost felt sorry for the snobby bastard!

He was not old enough to process all the things that he felt. But rejection hurt no matter how old you were.

That had been a very strong and definite rejection.

He bent over the questionnaire he had been filling out, struggling to control his fury. He repeatedly swallowed down the stubborn obstruction that clogged his throat and choked him. He blinked away the stupid tears that had begun to gather in his eyes.

The fingers that held his cheap yellow pencil were actually shaking with a mixture of very childish hurt and anger.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffed, and frowned.

It was stupid to cry over something like this. He was far too old for this crap. He had not cried over anything for years. He wasn't about to start because of this.

Babies cried, not people who dreamed of conquering the world.

After several deep breaths, he calmed down a little. There really was no point getting upset. Not when he knew what was going to happen to the new boy. It had happened to all of them, no matter how tough they had once thought that they were.

When a newcomer was brought into Kinderheim 511, he was immediately moved into Block Number 5, which was a temporary boarding facility. All newcomers were expected to remain there for the required orientations, preliminary profiling, and medical, physical and psychological exams. It was a process that generally took about a week. Once all the test results were in, the child would be given a number, and then assigned to a room and allotted tasks based on his profile. There were usually four boys in each room, and interactions between the roommates were very carefully monitored. The main dormitory had twenty rooms and a large, centrally located bathing facility which was communally shared.

Everyone in Kinderheim knew that there were certain tests carried out in Block Number 5 that were strictly off the record.

There was one test in particular that was carried out in the room the boys called the 'initiation room.'

It was an open secret that the authorities in charge did nothing about. Everyone knew that the 'initiation' was regarded as an unofficial part of the experiment itself.

The purpose of Kinderhiem was to breed the perfect soldiers; to create a secret military force that would obey any order that they were given without question. It picked the boys with the greatest potential; the strongest, the most intelligent, the most cruel, and it trained them to lead the others. It taught these carefully selected boys how to manipulate and control their peers. But whether you were an ordinary follower or one of the select few recognized as leaders, you were essentially just another soldier. There was nothing special about you. The place bred you to have no past, no future and no conscience. After Kinderhiem, you lost all understanding of the concept of emotion. You did not know mercy and you lost the capacity to feel remorse. You became a machine without a soul that hid itself in human flesh. You were frankly capable of doing _anything _you were ordered to without thinking twice_._

And as unscrupulously evil and nauseatingly _foul_ as the idea was, the fastest way to strip a child of his self worth, his free will, and ultimately his humanity, was by a clinical and studied application of brutal, consistent and dehumanizing physical, emotional and sexual abuse. The combined trauma usually eroded his self esteem and made him question any values and any sense of right and wrong, or any consciousness of his own individuality and self worth he might have once had. Ultimately, it made him more open to suggestion, easier to control, easier to instruct, and easier to indoctrinate.

Animals were a lot easier to train than human beings. And that was what Kinderhiem did. It removed everything that made you truly human from you. It turned you into an unthinking beast that could easily be trained and controlled.

The Authorities in charge of Kinderhiem 511 knew this far too well. The torture and frequently recurring abuse were just as vital to achieving their goals as were the carefully selected cartoons, the unconventional use of drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments, the occasional sleep deprivation and constant interrogations.

Not all the boys in Kinderheim understood this, but he did, even though he was only eight.

And that was _exactly_ why he was already a leader.

He looked at the new boy and smiled. It was a nasty, vindictive little smile.

The pretty blonde was going to learn, the hard way, that there were no superior children in Kinderhiem.

He wondered just how smug that boy would be when his high and mighty face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his pretty mouth was filled to the brim with Supervisor spooge. He doubted the new boy would remain _that_ stuck-up after repeatedly taking it up his ass like a back-alley whore.

He certainly looked like the type who would enjoy it, he thought spitefully.

But even as he thought this, his gut told him without equivocation that that person would never submit to anyone. He was angry, however, so he firmly ignored it. It was far more therapeutic to dismiss the other boy as a worthless catamite; as Hartman's potential little whore.

The truth was that here, there were those who did enjoy it. None of them had at first, but few had soon learned to. Some of them, like him, still hated it in spite of the occasional pleasure. He could tolerate the other things if he had to, there were even some things he would cautiously admit felt really good, but not… that.

At least he was fairly lucky. He did not have to deal with that all that time anymore, just twice a month or so, and a bit more if he wasn't careful.

He was usually very careful.

And he had even that much respect because he had fought for it. He had clawed, fought, manipulated, and murdered his way up to this level. He was a fighter; the leader of his own group for that matter. Kinderhiem was a place that separated wolves from sheep, and separated the pack leaders from the ordinary wolves. He was young, but he was a pack leader. Every boy in Kinderhiem knew him. He was tough, and his followers were tough too. They were not the strongest, but they were strong enough to survive. And the physical strength his group lacked was made up for by their ability to control and manipulate others. His little group had some of the best brainwashers and psychological terrorists in 511. The boys in his group were not all that big… the oldest among them was twelve and the youngest was five, but they rarely lost any fight, physical or mental, that they got into. The only people who really scared them were the supervisors, and some of the bigger kids, who they stayed away from.

That was how you survived here.

The constant, violence and occasionally fatal skirmishes between various groups were fairly normal. The routine tests, constant drugging, unpredictable experiments, and humiliating interrogations were enough trouble without having to worry about getting your ass kicked, getting raped by a prowling supervisor or one of the perpetually horny puberty- ridden seniors, or getting killed outright.

But at least, he no longer had to worry too much about rape anymore. The supervisors usually gave the leaders some respite, provided they kept their 'little gangs' in order.

He doubted that arrogant new boy would last long enough in this place to earn even that level of respect.

Still, for all his anger, he knew what he had seen in those eyes. When you became the leader of a group, you soon learned to distinguish stupid little sheep from wolves. The more wolves you had on your side, the better. However, you also had to be able to tell that a wolf was a pack leader the minute you saw it. Knowing how to do this was very important. Having two pack leaders in one group only caused trouble. He knew. That was how he had become the leader if his group. Their last boss has not been able to tell the difference between an ordinary wolf and a pack leader. That had been very sad.

It was strange how you really could achieve a lot of great things with just a pencil, especially when you took your time to sharpen it to a really fine point.

He smiled softly at the memory.

He had honestly enjoyed himself, giggling enthusiastically while his former boss writhed and bled and struggled and screamed until his throat gave out. The other boys had stared in horror while collectively struggling not to throw up. No one in their group dared to question his authority after watching him play his jiggle the pencil game, and his position as leader was firmly established when the doctors reported that even if, by some miracle, their former leader had managed to survive the physical damage to his brain, he would never have been able to see with _that_ eye ever again.

It was no surprise that he fully appreciated how important it was to recognize a pack leader when he saw one.

Those blue eyes he had seen were not the eyes of a pack leader.

They were eyes that pack leaders could not even presume to dream of having; the eyes of a massive, nameless entity that radiated the sort of raw, horrifying power that made pack leaders pee on themselves and run away with their tails between their legs.

They were the eyes of a leader that drew instinctive devotion from those that followed him; a master that inspired an almost perverse urge to submit and worship in the hearts of his chosen disciples. He could not help but be enthralled. The enchantment he felt was completely involuntary. He found himself craving the favor… or even the simple acknowledgement… of that awesome, powerful, magnificent creature. The sudden desire had been so strong and fierce that it had temporarily halted his ability to breathe.

And that was why the indifferent message in those eyes, and in that small, contemptuous smile, had _hurt_ him so much.

_Insignificant, presumptuous, unworthy peon; know your place, and stay in it._

He hoped, earnestly, that Hartman would beat the conceited little bastard to death before the week ran out.

* * *

**Part 2**

**Oh ye of little faith.**

He was not the only one who noticed the new boy. The blonde had caused quite a stir.

"Weekly cocoa says Hartman breaks his arm before the week runs out."

"Nah. Too pretty. He is going try to be careful with this one. I'd say a month, maybe even two."

"Hey, what do you think? Wimp, Warrior or Whore?"

"Whore."A cold snicker, "Definitely whore."

"I was thinking Wimp. He looks like the type who'd cry for mommy while taking it."

"Did you take a good look at him? That ass says Whore."

"Face says Wimp, Dickhead."

"Wimp for three days, maybe, Whore after that."

In the collectively twisted logic of the children of Kinderhiem, a Wimp was a pathetic little scaredy cat who could easily be bullied into letting himself be abused. Such a child was a joke, nothing but potential cannon fodder, weak and absolutely useless. No one wanted wimps in their groups, and they were the ones who suffered the most in Kinderhiem, because everyone had a license to bully them. Even the lowest of the low in Kinderhiem could do whatever he wanted with a wimp.

A Whore was one who probably started out as a Wimp or Warrior, but soon started to enjoy it, and adapted accordingly. Whores were deceitful. You could not trust them. They were the ones who looked out for their own best interests, and had no interests except what would please them. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but it was something the leaders had to be careful to take note of. Whores were infinitely resourceful and could adapt to anything, and they had their peculiar uses. But having too many whores in one group almost always led to its downfall.

A Warrior was one who let it happen because he had no choice, he was forced to, but even so he kept trying to fight, or at least talk his way out of it. It was understood that no child would ever be able to prevent the abuse from happening, no matter what he did or how much he fought. But making a reasonable attempt to stop it was what actually separated the true fighters from the victims. True Warriors were rare. They were the wolves. They were the useful ones. The ones that were always sought after by and fought over by rival gangs.

It was all primarily a thing of status.

The weird thing, he realized, was that it never crossed any of their minds that the boy might just possibly be a Warrior.

He did not blame them. They had not looked into that boy's eyes. They had only seen the pretty face and slender body.

But he had seen those eyes, and he had a gut feeling. His instincts about people were rarely ever wrong.

Besides, no wimp or whore could make _him_ of all people cry like an _ordinary_ eight year old boy just by looking at him.

He knew that the boy was not just a wolf, not just a pack leader. He was something far more threatening, and it was probably very unwise to try to recruit him. But he also knew that, for some reason he himself did not fully understand, he wanted the new boy in his group. It was just a simple feeling he had. His group mostly survived on being able to manipulate and control others. That boy belonged with his own group and no one else's.

If he won this bet, he would have first dibs.

He was not one to pass up a chance to get in an advantage.

"Your dinners for a week for me and my boys. Warrior."

Make that two advantages.

Everyone stared at him. Then as a group, they burst into loud, uproarious laughter.

"Good one." "Didn't see that coming." "Warrior? Ha!" "Yeah right."

"I was not joking"

Even the boys in his own group looked at him as if he had suddenly gone crazy.

Then 19 snorted. He was one of the older ones; probably seventeen, and almost old enough to be sent out to live on his own. He was okay. Not as screwy as some of the other seniors, but you did not want to mess with him. The guy was huge. He was officially the biggest boy in Kinderhiem 511 now that his best friend, 17, was no longer there. It was sad because all the boys who had known him had really liked him. 17 had been the very definition of a Gentle Giant… extremely tall, a reasonable cross between lanky and muscular, with a thin face and a characteristically large, beaky nose. Those who could still remember 17 knew that he had been one of the kindest boys who had ever lived in 511… But that did not mean that he was a pushover. Get on his wrong side, and he went 'Magnificent Steiner' on your ass. During his stay, every single inmate of Kinderhiem developed a very healthy respect for his ability to beat people to bloody, pulpy corpses with nothing but his fists. It was one of the reasons he had 'graduated' so soon. There were other organizations where his unique talents could be put to better use.

When 17 was here, he and 19 had been regarded as the strongest boys in Kinderhiem, but he could always be counted on to curb some of his best friend's excesses.

But 17 was gone. And 19 was examining the smaller boys with a very predatory smirk.

And he was a guy with a reputation for raw, unrestrained, brutality, and who was almost impossible to take down in a fight. Unlike his friend, he was not a nice guy; the only thing that was even remotely sentimental about him was his fondness for their weekly ration of cocoa. He also had a reputation for being as horny as hell, and the lucky possessor of the largest dick in Kinderhiem… supervisors included. It was a terrible thing, because he was famous for not being as considerate as someone of his remarkable size should have been.

"What the hell do you want; Roses? A fucking serenade?" He would usually ask his howling victim. "I'll reserve my gentleness for females, thank you. It is bad enough that I have to endure fucking a puke-ugly, bony, flat assed, tit-less wonder like you."

This quality did not bode well for the wary little boys he was studying. Sexual intimidation among the test subjects was technically forbidden in Kinderhiem 511, but that had never stopped anyone before.

He stood up, towering over many of the other boys, and approached the younger group.

He looked squarely into 37's eyes.

"You are very sure of yourself, aren't you?" He sneered. "What's your stake then, Bitch?"

It was suddenly very quiet. The crowd of hard eyed boys watched; their mouths twisted in cold, borderline indifferent smiles.

37 did not flinch. He maintained eye contact and did not back down, even as the older boy loomed over him.

"Dinners for Dinners," he said. "For one week."

"Dinners for dinners," he agreed. "And then, after you have lost the bet, you and your lucky little bitches also get to suck our cocks on demand for the full week."

Everyone was immediately very interested. Whooping, hollering, whistling, crude comments, harsh laughter and catcalls filled the air. The older boys were positively leering.

The younger boy's group members were not happy. Most of them could barely hide their alarm.

37 remained absolutely calm.

"If you want to raise the stakes, fine" he said. "_When_ we win, we get your dinners, and you get our kitchen and toilet duty. Of course…" He added diplomatically, because even though he knew he would win, he could not afford to seriously annoy the bigger boys. Politicians _had_ to be tactful. This was good practice. "…seeing that you are more than we are in number, cleaning up really shouldn't be such a big deal. This is all just a game after all."

19 raised an eyebrow, and then he laughed.

"You've got balls, kid. But luckily for you, you also seem to have some scraps of a brain as well. It will really be a shame when you lose." He ruffled the smaller boys head, almost affectionately. "Get ready for tonight. You fuckers will be getting dirty knees the minute Golden Boy's initiation is over." The other boys crowed and hooted with laughter. "And by the way," he added derisively, "You just won first prize; you get to play with mine." He traced the other boy's mouth with his large thumb, and then shoved his head back hard enough to hurt. "Aren't you the luckiest bitch of them all?" His grin was scornful.

As soon as the bigger boys had gone, his group gathered around him, alarmed, panicked, and angry. They asked him, among other less savory things, just what the hell he thought he was doing.

He laughed in his quiet, peculiar way.

"Just wait." was all he said. "You'll see."

Some rolled their eyes. Some grumbled. Some moaned. They really hated it when he went all mysterious on them.

He arched a thin, angular eyebrow. "You know, you guys really could show _some_ faith in your leader." His eyes narrowed, but his lips remained stretched out in an incongruously cheerful smile. "I feel very upset about this."

Yes, they really hated it when he went all mysterious on them. But they had to admit it was much better than when he went utterly, nastily, bat-shit insane.

So collectively, they backed off. They all knew that their leader was vindictive enough not to forget any boy who actually questioned his authority. Giving blow jobs for a week was not a bad deal. They had all done worse before. It was far better than getting themselves killed in surprisingly… creative ways, or worse, being talked into killing each other.

It never occurred to them to think that they might actually win the bet.

* * *

**Part 3**

**Out of the mouths of infants**

The day had been long and grueling. The night was unmercifully cold, and their hard, narrow beds, as miserable as they were, looked extremely inviting.

But only a very few boys were actually asleep in Kinderhiem 511 that night.

A group of five boys; the two group leaders, two others from each group and a judge they had both agreed on had gathered together. They hid silently, waiting in the almost freezing darkness by the entrance to Block 5.

Before long another boy joined them. He was number 26. A lean, curly haired eleven year old with a pale, cold, narrow face and black, colder, narrower eyes. He had been assigned to work in Block 5, running errands for the men who worked there. As a result, he had developed a liking for brewing and trying out many different kinds of tea. A go between of sorts, he often used his position to smuggle other boys inside the building for events like this. It was a very risky thing to do, but the benefits were enormous. None of the seniors were permitted to touch or harass him in any way, and the other boys routinely took care of his portion of domestic chores without asking questions. In return, he usually could be counted on to ensure that the other boys knew what was going on in Block 5, and that small numbers of them could actually sneak inside to watch for themselves from reasonably safe hiding places.

However, there was a problem today.

"I can't get you all in." He said. His voice was soft and raspy, already beginning to break with the onset of puberty. "The most I can manage today is two."

The other boys were not happy. They let him know this in very colorful terms.

"Look, there is nothing I can do tonight, alright? The supervisors are also interested; so the room is being monitored, and both rooms with two way mirrors are already taken. It is weird for so many of them to be so interested in an initiation." He curved his lips dryly. "It seems the new boy has gotten them all excited, but I doubt it is just because of his pretty face. Even Mr. Petrov himself is coming down to watch tonight."

That came as a surprise. It was very strange for the director show an interest in this particular extracurricular activity. Petrov was not a pedophile. Everyone knew that the man was a pure intellectual. To him, the children were primarily test subjects; barely human, fairly important but ultimately expendable tools for his research. His sole interest in the boys was academic. However, while he never personally abused any of them, he did not interfere with the abusive activities of the other instructors. He let them do just as they pleased as long as it did not interfere with the experiment. Indeed, the results of some of their abusive activities had certainly proved invaluable to his research.

The fact that he was coming to Block 5, personally, to watch the 'initiation' of a new test subject, was completely unprecedented. There was only one reason he would do such a thing; he expected something very unusual to happen. Something of invaluable academic interest.

19 began to look as if he was almost having second thoughts about going through with the bet. He gave the younger boy a very sharp look, wondering exactly what it was that he _knew_.

37 was silent, but his smile was wide enough to show large, gleaming teeth. His eyes were positively glowing with barely suppressed _excitement_.

The older boy grunted and looked away. He could not afford to call off the bet now; besides, he had to admit that he was curious. What was it that this tiny, crazily dangerous boy had seen in the new boy that excited him so much? What was it about the new boy that interested their supervisors so intensely?

"Let us both in then." He said quietly. He looked at the other boys. "Go back to the dorm. You will hear from us soon." The other boys nodded and left, leaving the two group leaders alone with their go-between. "You can judge for us," he asked the eleven year old. "Right?"

26 nodded."Come on then." He said. "Follow me, and do not make a sound."

They followed the eleven year old, darting through narrow corridors and up a deserted flight of stairs.

"There are only two places that I figure will be fairly safe to watch from. I dug holes in the wall of the broom closet, and then there is the ventilation shaft, but that is too small, and far too risky with all the equipment they've put in."

The broom closet was small, and quite cramped. But neither boy complained. They were far too interested in watching what was going to happen.

The holes provided a very clear view of the small, bare, windowless room dominated by wall to wall mirrors, with a narrow, single bed. The room was very brightly lit by several fluorescent bulbs. A single chair and a desk with a set of drawers were the only other furniture in the room. The new boy's clothes hung neatly from a peg on the wall. There were two doors. The door that led to the tiny adjoining bathroom was closed.

The boy himself was in bed. He lay on his side, slightly curled up and faced away from the light. As they watched, his eyes opened. He turned, lay on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. A scant few seconds later, he was on his side again, facing away from them.

"A little restless, isn't he?" observed the older boy.

"His records did say he was a very light sleeper." Commented 26 softly.

The other boys looked at him incredulously.

"You read his file?!" exclaimed 19.

26 rolled his eyes. "The supervisors mentioned it." he said slowly, as if he was talking to idiots.

37 frowned. He really did not like the eleven year old's attitude. Their guide was about the only boy in 511 with an unlimited license to be rude, and he used it with impunity.

"They say he sleeps much better in the dark too" continued their guide, "Which is probably why they have left such bright lights on."

"Hmm" smirked the older boy. "Sick motherfuckers, aren't they?"

Their guide nodded briefly in agreement, a cold smile twisting his lips. "Of course, there is also the fact that he is not used to sleeping alone."

"He had a family?" asked the older boy somewhat dubiously.

"A twin sister. They say the two of them were very close… abnormally so. There was even some talk about running tests to determine whether they have some sort of telepathic bond."

The older boy scoffed. "Like that shit really exists."

"You'd be surprised."

The youngest boy frowned, considering this. He decided that he did not like it.

"What happened to the sister, did you hear?" He asked, speaking up for the first time.

"They did not say much about her."

"Is she still alive though?" He pressed.

"I think so."He shrugged. "I suspect they put her in a regular orphanage, since the director was rather upset about not being able to have access to her for some of the tests they planned to run. Kinderhiem 47 would be my guess. The director there has a reputation among our supervisors for being difficult. She coddles her kids, and she won't allow experiments on them. She tells them all the time that 47 is not a 'special' government facility like 511, and refuses to let anyone touch her kids for any reason. I guess that's why they were upset. They cannot study the twins as a pair if Ms Tietze refuses to cooperate. That girl is very lucky."

"True. Did they say what she looked like?" The oldest asked curiously.

"I heard someone mention that she looks a lot like her brother."

"She must be hot then." 19 commented. "I'd definitely like to meet her." He added with a sly grin.

The two younger boys gave him a strange look.

"She… is… eight… years… old." 26 pointed out, very slowly, and very reasonably.

"She… has… a… pu…ssy." The teen replied bluntly. His tone was very matter of fact. "You know," he added wistfully, "it's been a quite a while since I've actually seen one of those. I miss them."

The guide looked at him with extreme disgust.

"You are a revolting pedophile."

"So is everyone else in the fucking building. Since when do you care?"

"Girls are different, asshole."

"Really? How so?"

"They are only good for sex when they've got boobs."

The older teen snorted.

"How naïve. You poor, little baby." He scoffed. "You still have much to learn about this cold, hard, wicked world."

"Would you two please keep it down?" interrupted 37. "Someone's coming in."

There was immediate silence. All three boys looked through their respective holes.

The New Boy was no longer lying down. He was sitting upright on the bed. The door in front of him was creaking open.

Before long, one of the supervisors walked in. He was a tall, muscular man with a harsh, square face and dark, close cropped hair. He wore a black tee shirt and military pants. His thin lips were curved upwards in a nasty smirk. His nostrils flared as he breathed, and his small, narrow eyes were fixed on the tiny boy on the bed. The look in them was predatory, and sickeningly unwholesome.

All three boys watching from the broom closet recognized him very well.

Collectively, they shuddered.

But, scared nearly out of their wits though they were, they kept on watching. Their eyes widened in fascination and lingering traces of well remembered horror as the huge muscular man loomed over the tiny boy on the bed.

Only one of them noticed that the new boy did not seem the slightest bit afraid.

It did not surprise him at all.

The blonde looked up, considering the huge man analytically as he stood over him. He watched as the man studied his slender form with appreciation. "Nice." He said, making the boys hiding inside the broom closet involuntarily cringe. He sat on the bed beside the boy, reached out and touched his face. His fingers caressed the little boy's cheek, rested under his jaw, and tilted his face up for closer inspection. "Practically flawless, how … unusual…" He smirked.

The boy did not react at all. He sat very still, considering the man's face as his large thumb traced the soft curve of his lower lip and his dark eyes surveyed his slender, pajama covered form.

"I like you" He decided. "So I intend to savor this. Do us both a favor and don't make a fuss. If you do as I say, you might even enjoy it."

The boys in the closet were livid.

"What! No Fair!"

"That's cheating!"

"Lucky bastard," grumbled 19. "I got two broken ribs, a million contusions and a dislocated right arm. He gets a cozy fucking love scene just because he has a pretty face."

"Yeah." 26 sounded disgusted "Why don't they break out the candles and the violin while they are at it. This sucks."

"He's gonna end up a whore now." 19 informed 37. "You might as well just pay up."

"We don't know that yet!" The younger group leader protested immediately. But for the first time, he sounded doubtful. "Let's just wait and see what happens."

"Clutching at straws, are you?" The older teen snorted. "Pitiful. Still, I appreciate the free porn. Just make sure you are ready to suck me off as soon as the show's over."

The younger boy frowned and bit his lip, but he said nothing. He turned back to his peephole to watch.

The new boy was silent. His expression was innocently tranquil. It seemed to unsettle the older man a bit.

"Nothing to say, Kid?"

The boy just stared at him.

Without further ado, he moved, pinning the tiny form of the smaller boy to the bed.

The three watching boys unconsciously winced.

The new boy lay very still as the bigger man undid the buttons of his pajama shirt. He watched the adult with vague curiosity as he pushed it aside, revealing his pale, slender chest and tiny, rose pink nipples.

"Hmm." He said appreciatively. "Nice." He raised an eyebrow. "You don't talk much, do you?"

The boy just looked at him. His gaze was quietly analytical.

"You have nothing to say? Fair enough, I suppose."

His fingers were wiry and brown against the pale, smoother skin of the younger boy. He ran his fingertips over slightly prominent ribs, and a slender chest. His large thumbs nudged the child's nipples, and then slowly circled them. His left hand moved lower, sliding over tiny, barely pronounced abs, dipping into his belly button, then sliding under the elastic band of his pajama bottoms. He touched the boy, and then quite suddenly, he stopped. Incredulously, he pulled the elastic band of the child's pajama bottoms up, peeked underneath, and lifted an appreciative eyebrow.

"Well, well. They _were_ right. You _really were_ very specially bred. I admire the attention to detail." He smirked. "And I'll bet you've never actually used it. How cute." He reached under the soft cotton material. His voice became a low whisper. "Don't worry. I'll show you what it is meant for."

Quite suddenly, the boy began to laugh.

His laughter was loud, derisive, and uproarious. It startled the unseen watchers as well as his would be molester.

The man was shocked, then supremely offended. He was accustomed to provoking several different reactions from boys in this situation. Mocking and uproarious laughter was not one of them.

"What the hell is your problem, Kid?"

"Forgive me." The boy replied, making a noble effort to suppress his laughter. "But I really couldn't help it. It is so funny, watching you. I _knew_ they would try something like this, and I knew they would send someone like you… but I honestly had not expected you to be so … pathetic."

The man was taken aback. He pulled back slightly and frowned.

"You wanna get beat up, kid?"

"Not really." The boy assured him politely. "You'd kill me. Besides, I was under the impression that you were sent here to do a lot worse than beat me up." The boy lifted genuinely curious blue eyes to the older man's face. "Why would you try to turn your precious experiment into something like this?" The boy's eyes moved down. They studied the large, ring-less, sunburned left hand that was half buried under his pajama bottoms. When he looked up again, the look in his eyes was honestly sympathetic. "You are single, aren't you?" His voice was mild, and inquiring. "And I'll bet you live on your own. What do you do alone in your quarters after work? What are you really looking for whenever you volunteer to do things like this to little boys like me?" The child studied his face gravely. "You are not very old… and I don't think you look too bad. I have known some women to settle for far worse. Even uglier men than you have stable relationships at your age. It makes no sense. Why should someone like you choose to remain single? Why do you keep looking for fulfillment in … children? What is it we do for you that fully grown women… or men… cannot do?"

"Your file was right about you. You _are_ a pretty devious kid. And you ask too many damn questions."

"Your hand is down my pants. I think I have a right to know some basic things about you."

"Welcome to 511. You have no rights here. And believe me, you are getting it a lot easier than the unfortunate little bastards who came before you, so quit yapping and enjoy this while you can. The others will not be as nice as me."

He began to stroke the boy, but the blonde squirmed, and pulled away.

The older man frowned.

"I can figure out the answers myself." The boy said quickly, diverting his attention from whatever he had been planning to say. "You want me to try?"

"Don't get cocky, brat. You are lucky I happen to like you… but don't push it."

"I am sorry. But I could not help it. I find you rather… interesting."

The older man went still. He looked up, at the boy's face, and then he smiled. "Really now?" His hand under the waistband resumed stroking, but this time, the strokes were gentler, and more deliberate. "Just lie back, and stop moving about so much. I will show you how much more 'interesting' I can get." He held the boy down with a very firm grip, leaned down and licked one of his nipples with his tongue. "Say still"

He leaned over, rolled his tongue around the tiny pink nipple, coaxing it erect.

The boy made another attempt to move, but the grip that held him down was too strong.

"I don't suppose it matters to you that I really do not want this?" He inquired calmly.

The man grinned, "Mouths lie. T_his_ wants it" He palmed the boy's slowly growing hardness significantly. "So what you say does not count."

He pulled the nipple into his mouth.

"I see." A pause. "Why not?"

He did not bother answering. He was too preoccupied with the taste of the boy's skin. The sucking noises seemed obscenely loud in the silence of the room.

"A reversal of roles, is it?" The child's voice was soft.

The man went very still.

He looked up at the boy's face. His eyes were wide. His face had suddenly paled.

Unconsciously, his grip on the child went slack. He pulled back. His hand slipped out from the boy's pants as the child subtly moved away. The boy looked serene, almost sleepy, but the gleam in the heavy lidded eyes was incongruously alert, annoyingly smug and very quietly dangerous.

"Don't look so shocked. I told you I would figure it out." His smile grew pitying. "So who was it then? An Uncle? A teacher? A Big Brother?" He arched an inquiring brow "Or was it… Your own father?"

As sleepy and delicate as he looked, the new boy could move extremely fast when he had to. It was a good thing. If he had been a second slower, the blow would certainly have caused significant damage.

"Ah, so I was right." He smirked "_It was your father_."

He darted to the left in just enough time to avoid another bone crushing blow. He stood firmly balanced, bare feet apart on the cold floor, poised to move again if he had to.

His face was calm. His lips were curved in a cool, subtly mischievous smile. It amazed everyone watching that the boy could remain so completely unperturbed after dexterously avoiding the older man's furious attacks. His unbuttoned pajama top hung open. His bottoms rode so low that they threatened to expose him. His blonde hair was completely tousled. His pale skin was marred with telltale pink marks.

His eyes were as hard as steel.

There was no melting vulnerability on display in those eyes; they lacked even the smallest trace of fear. The boy looked disheveled, and generally disreputable. But his face was serene; his expression was utterly composed as he considered his attacker.

"Please calm down." He said politely "Try taking deep breaths. It usually helps to cool the temper." The boy's smile was almost cynical. "I apologize if I touched a nerve."

"God, this kid is fucking crazy," said the older teen in the broom closet.

"No." said 37, fidgeting restlessly and breathing heavily with an excitement he could barely contain. His grin was wide and his eyes were glowing. _This_ was what he had seen. _This_ was the master of pack leaders at work, and it surpassed all his expectations. "He isn't crazy. He's _Brilliant_."

Both boys in the closet gave him a very strange look.

Then suddenly 19 smiled.

"You have a boner, don't you?" He smirked.

Immediately, 37 turned bright red.

"Shut up!"

He was very glad that the closet was too dark to let the other two see his telltale blush.

The older teen snickered. 26 sighed tolerantly.

Inside the mirrored, brightly lit room, the bigger man took several deep breaths, and struggled to match his victim's calmness.

"You have a smart mouth, don't you, brat?" The larger man smirked. "You should be very careful what you say."

"Was I wrong then?" The boy asked innocently.

"You were completely and utterly wrong."

"I was?"

"Yes!" He barked.

"Forgive me, but I do not agree." The boy placed his hands thoughtfully behind his back. He considered the older man with speculative eyes. "The facts here speak for themselves." His eyes narrowed. "You are an intimidating man; huge, muscular, and completely scary to an unarmed little boy like me. There is no question that you have the upper hand here. This means that you like to prey on those who are weaker than yourself. And what they want does not matter. Your will has to dictate theirs. Why are you so afraid of a having normal relationship with a person who just might be as strong as you? Why do you try so hard to prove that you are strong? Why is your need to prove it so desperate? Just who are you trying to please?" The boy tilted his head inquiringly. "I wonder; it is because it all has to work according to the script you have written in your head?"

"What?"

"It is a play, isn't it? A little drama you acted with your father for years… and you were the one who always played the weak and helpless part; the one who would end up being used and thrown away. You were the one who was worthless, who was ultimately not loved."

The boy smiled up at the ashen face of the older man.

"My observation surprises you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why should it? It is so obvious. There is nothing really unique about you. You are very transparent… and as I pointed out before, rather pathetic." He smiled "Even a child younger than I am can see that you are terribly frightened of becoming the weak one again. You hold children down and force them to give you pleasure because it gives you a temporary illusion of power. You seduce the particular children who attract you because you want them to value you. You try to buy their love by giving them the sort of physical pleasure you know is new to them. You make them need you, because it makes you feel relevant when they do. It was the same with your father, wasn't it? You struggled to buy his love by pleasing his body, because in your heart you knew that all you were to him was a tool. You were not his son. You were a cheap piece of equipment; a convenient little receptacle that he would use anytime he felt the urge, and toss aside when he was done."

"That is a lie!"

"Did it work, selling your body to your father? Did it buy you the love you so desperately wanted?" The boy's smile was full of pity "Somehow, I doubt it. Would you be inside this room forcing _children _to have sex with you if it did?" He smirked. "You can claim all you want that it is just part of their experiment, that you do what you have to do for science, and for the glory of this country, but that does not change the fact that you are essentially a rapist… a repulsive pedophile, like your father was."

"Shut up!"

"Really, two way mirrors." The boy smiled scornfully at the men he could not see, who watched from behind the glass. "Tacky, and crass" His gaze slid back to the older man. "You did not change much, did you? You really would do anything to please those you see as father figures, wouldn't you? You know that they are watching, and you do things like this in front of them. You provide sexual entertainment for favors and material benefit. I must confess that I do not know a whole lot about these things, but that _is_ the definition of prostitution, isn't it?"

The boy made no attempt to run as the man grabbed him by the shoulders. There was no need to. He could clearly see that the older man was beginning to break.

"Shut up!"His eyes were wild. His voice was shaking. "You are eight! You can't talk like this! You can't know these things! Stop talking about stuff you don't _fucking _understand!"

The child's eyes were blue and tranquil. They stared into the eyes of the man.

"Where was your mother?" He asked, softly.

The man froze.

"All those times you lay on your back and prostituted yourself to satisfy your father's lust, where was she?" The boy studied him. "Did she know?"

The older man let go. His expression gave the boy all the answers he needed.

The child smiled, clearly _savoring_ the man's agony.

"She was there, wasn't she?" He said softly. "She knew." He smiled. "She did not like it, did she?" She must have resented you. Maybe she even hated you for stealing her husband away. She must have been so disgusted at the sight of you. I am sure she regretted it… having you, _I mean. She probably _regretted every single day that she had ever carried something so dirty and shameful inside her. I am sure there were times she looked at you, and you looked deep into her eyes, and you could feel her wishing that you were dead… that you did not exist at all. You felt it when she smiled at you, didn't you? Her eyes were always cold, weren't they? And you knew. You knew it was because those eyes did not see her son. They saw an empty, loathsome thing that they silently wished would just disappear."

"That is not true! She loved me!"

"Did she?" The boy asked. "I can't pretend to know what it was like for you. I wasn't there, so perhaps I am wrong." He shrugged "But this really has nothing to do with me. It is all about you. It is your own past. Think about it; remember those things you know, those secrets you will never tell a soul, those memories of your mother that hurt you to contemplate. Everyone has them, you know. Think about the things you have told no one, and then ask yourself, did she love you? Can you truly convince yourself that she did? Could she really have loved a person like you? Was there anything remotely lovable about the polluted, sinful, disgusting thing that you were? Do you honestly think that people like you truly deserve to be loved… or even to live?"

The man was quiet. His eyes were wide as they stared at the boy.

"There is a reason you are still single. If your own mother could not love you, what woman would? If your own father could only see you as a thing he could use, what value does your existence have? If the very woman who gave you life could hate you enough to wish you dead, what reason do you have to live?"

The boy studied him under half closed lashes. His voice was a soft, almost sleepy alto.

"Do you want to know why I think that you are pathetic? It isn't because of your parents, or your childhood. It is not even because of your pitiful, ham fisted attempt to seduce me. It is because you are in pain. It rots you from inside and you are sick with it, but instead of doing what you know you should do to end it, you spread your pain around, like a _disease_. You infect innocent children's lives, and contaminate them with your own worthlessness. And when you do this, you increase the number of people who ultimately despise you. This is why you are pathetic. You are such a coward. You lack the simple ability to face up to your responsibilities and end the diseased blight that is your existence. "

The man stared at the boy. He could not say a word. The look on his face was perplexed and rather dazed, as if he was struggling to understand exactly what it was that he was looking at, and figure out exactly what had happened.

The boy turned from him, and quietly began to button up his shirt. The man watched as the boy finished readjusting his clothes. Ignoring the older man, he climbed back into his narrow bed, pulled the thin covers up to his chest and clutched them to himself in that peculiar, endearing manner common among children everywhere.

He was just an eight year old boy, when all was said and done.

"I'm tired." His voice was polite. "I want to sleep now. If you have nothing else to do here, please leave."

In a daze, the older man turned, and made for the door.

"Oh and if you don't mind, get one of _them _to turn the lights out. The experiment should be over for tonight. The very least you people can do is let me sleep."

Completely docile, the older man nodded.

"Thank you. Good night."

The man left. A few minutes afterward, the lights in the room dimmed, then went out altogether.

There was complete silence in the darkness of the broom closet.

"Holy Shit" 19 murmured in awe, breaking the silence. 'Holy Fucking Shit!"

"Warrior" 26 breathed. "Definitely warrior."

"I believe," said 37 smugly, "Your boys owe mine dinners for a week…" he grinned "and kitchen duty."

* * *

**To be continued?**

* * *

As you see, this has a rather high squick level, even for me.

If you made it this far, please review. I would really like to know your opinion.

Do I continue it… or do I keep just keep yucky stuff like this to myself?

Please let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading! You guys are awesome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, etc.

**Warnings**: violence, profanity, sexual themes, nonspecific drug use, and abusive behavior towards children by people who really should know better. Please, I said this before, and I will say it again. If any of these things bother you, do not read this. If do read it, well… you know what you are getting into.

**Rating**: M (really dark, mature themes and subject matter here folks, so move along if you do not want to read that kind of stuff.)

**Authors Notes**

Sorry this took so long. Life (wretched thing that it is) finally managed to catch up with me.

The songs I used are actual children's songs from Germany

* * *

**Scapegoat**

"He has to go."

Almost three hours had passed since the attempted initiation. Petrov was still seated, staring into the darkened room on the other side of the glass. He did not move. His gaze never wavered. The downward tilt of the line of his mouth was his only visible reaction to everything that had taken place. He remained completely still in the midst of the chaos that followed the officer's return. He did not participate in the panicked attempts at damage control.

As far as he was concerned, it did not matter. Nothing they did would make any difference. The man was already dead.

His fate was written in his own frantic, bewildered, almost desperately skeptical laughter, conspicuous in spite of his constant exclamations of "God! What a freaky kid!" Petrov knew, just by listening, that they were wasting their time. He was not a living thing anymore. The person they worked so hard to save was just an ambulatory corpse. He would kill himself as soon as he was left alone.

His gnarled hand curled to a fist as he watched the sleeping little boy who had just murdered a seasoned military officer. His eyes were hard and frosty. They did not see a child. They saw a distinctly appalling creature.

The loss of a pawn was not worth considering when your king was at stake.

Petrov had always been a very cautious man. His job was a dangerous one. The fact that he was still alive was evidence of his ability to detect and avoid unnecessary risks.

And so, when Hartman returned to the room, he did not mince words.

"He has to go."

Hartman looked at the older man with some surprise.

"Sir?"

"He has to go." Petrov repeated. "Send him away. Take him back to the General. Get him transferred. Or dump him in 47 with that sister of his. I do not care which you do. Just get rid of him. Nothing good will come of his presence here."

Hartman smiled at that. Petrov was brilliant, but he could not help the occasional feeling that age was beginning to catch up with him. He was certainly becoming unnecessarily paranoid.

"Don't you think" He asked patiently "that you are being a little… unreasonable?"

Petrov's eyes narrowed, but he let the implied insult pass.

"What precautions have you taken?"

"The child will be disciplined. We have discussed the matter of what is to be done with him. The Officer has been debriefed, and has been offered emergency counseling…"

"You should not have left him alone."

"With due respect, sir, I do not agree. He is an adult; a Soldier. It is not our responsibility to baby-sit him. He might have been understandably unnerved, but according to both counselors, the situation is firmly under control."

"Has he said anything about it?"

"As a matter of fact he has."Hartman's smile grew smug, almost condescending. "He admitted that it was all 'very creepy,' but that it was ridiculous to believe that he would kill himself just because an eight year old told him to."

"I see."

"The counselors were more than satisfied. He may need more counseling later, of course, but they say he will be fit to go back to work in a couple of days at most. Even if we have to transfer him, there will be no shortage of officers willing to take his position. There might have been some danger, but…"

"I find it interesting that you have not referred to the officer by name once. Why is that, Gene?"

Hartman was getting tired of this.

"Perhaps because the monster stole his name?" He suggested flippantly.

"Do not mock me, Gene." The older man's voice was steely. "I am not the fool you seem to take me for."

"Forgive me, Mr. Petrov, I fail to see what Adler's name has got to do with this."

"You read Emil Sebe's little book. You saw what happened as clearly as I did. Any moderately intelligent adult would be able to make the connection." Petrov leaned forward. "A good soldier went into that room. A dazed puppet came out of it. That officer will say anything he thinks you people want to hear in order to be left alone. I looked into his eyes as he walked in here. That man has already resigned himself to death. You saw it as well Gene. To pretend otherwise would be negligence bordering on deliberate murder."

Hartman was silent. Petrov was overreacting, drawing wild conclusions because of a boy and a book.

He refused to analyze the memory of what he had seen in the officer's eyes.

He refused to admit that the emotion that gripped his heart when he saw it was fear.

And yet, his hands were trembling.

It was unbelievable. What sort of man was he? How could he be so shaken by a pale, tiny, malnourished eight year old whose balls hadn't even dropped?

Fear was an unreasonable, crippling thing. It made you see monsters where there were none. He was not a senile old man like Petrov. He would not allow the dread growing in the pit of his stomach to rule him.

"I saw nothing of the sort. " He lied smoothly. "Still, I understand how you might have. Paranoia does tend to increase with age."

The older man's eyes narrowed.

"You would do well not to provoke me. There are certain things I choose to ignore, since they do not interfere with my work. But there are people at Central that will not be pleased to hear about some of your… hobbies."

Hartman smirked at that. The people at Central were fully aware of his 'hobbies'. Some of them had hobbies that were considerably worse. Everyone kept everyone else's secrets. It was something that was tacitly understood among them. Of course, Petrov, being the narrow minded academic that he was, could not be expected to understand the intricacies of the game.

Or so he thought.

"Scapegoats are always useful, Gene, never forget it."

Hartman's smile faded.

Apparently, Petrov was not as oblivious as he had believed.

This was dangerous. All he had to do was prove that any of Hartman's activities threatened the results of the experiment. Such evidence would not be difficult to find if he really made up his mind to look. Essentially, it was not the abuse that mattered. The higher-ups involved in the trade for underage boys were fiercely protective of their sources of supply. But very few people would remain disbelieving or ignore transgressions where money was concerned.

511 had a very long history of administrative corruption. There was no supervisor who did not know about it. The profits they made were shared according to rank; so Hartmann got a significant cut. All the special orphanages worked this way. But, as Petrov had pointed out, it was all about who would be turned into the official scapegoat. Having a scapegoat was vital from time to time to keep the eyes of serious investigators turned away from what was truly going on.

There was a tense silence.

"Forgive me." Hartman said, finally. His face was carefully blank as he gave this apology, but the hand hidden beside him slowly curled into a fist. "But I still think you are overreacting. He is just a child. A genius maybe, but in other respects he is no different from any other boy in this place."

"That thing is no child."Petrov said shortly. "It is a monster."

"All the more reason why we should be the ones controlling him." Hartman leaned forward earnestly. "Remember what the General said about the twins. And you must have heard stories about the Czechoslovakian Eugenics Project… and how abruptly it ended when the people involved mysteriously vanished. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to give up, for the sake of our National pride, if nothing else. I am sure you must have heard the rumors about the father of the twins."

"About him being German?" Petrov snorted. A scientist to the core, established facts appealed to him more than hypothesis of any sort. "There is no proof of that." He said.

"Does it matter? In this case a rumor is more than enough. As far as we are concerned, their father was German; a filthy traitor to his country, but German nonetheless. No one has attempted to argue otherwise, and their Czechoslovakian mother has made no attempt to claim them. I doubt the woman even knows where they are. We cannot allow our citizens to be used and abandoned by the Czechs. They belong here. It is their duty to atone for their father's treason by using their abilities for our country. With a little effort, I think we can turn this monster into the New Führer."

"Your argument would be more convincing if you did not have glaring ulterior motives. I doubt you truly meant a word you said."

"Come now, Mr. Petrov, that's hardly fair."

"Life is never fair, and death makes no exceptions for fools." He frowned down the mirror at the sleeping child. "Generally, I do not interfere with your little… amusements; but this is a mistake I cannot allow you to make."

"You worry too much. I will be fine."

"Do not mistake me, Gene. I am not concerned about you. Quite frankly, I doubt anyone here would miss you if you got yourself killed. However, I do not think that the boy will be satisfied with you alone. This is what worries me."

"You should have more faith in your own project, Mr. Petrov. Trust the abilities of your colleagues and subordinates. Even the worst monsters can be tamed by our system."

Petrov's smile was ironic.

"I do not doubt it. As long as the experiment is not interfered with, he will probably be tamed. But I cannot trust your staff, and I do not trust you." There was a long silence. "This project is still my brainchild, no matter what you say. I will not let anything destroy it; I do not want that boy here. Get rid of him."

Hartman had had enough.

"I will not do that."

"What?"

"You overestimate your own influence. Scapegoat or not, I am not the only person in charge here, and I am sure the others will agree with me."

"That Boy cannot stay here!"

"If it bothers you so much, take it up with the General." He smiled smugly "You might be important to the project, but as far as I know, we still take our orders from him." Hartman smirked. "I am afraid there is nothing we can do, not unless he gives direct instructions."

Petrov considered Hartmann in silence.

They both knew the General would never give that order. Not after he had seen the Child's potential. Not when he knew what the boy was capable of.

Still, there was one thing that Hartman had obviously not considered, and Petrov was not above getting a little revenge.

"Be that as it may, I doubt the General would approve if he happened to find out about your selfish and dangerous desire to sodomize the boy he chose to be the future leader of our country."

Hartman went still.

The older man got up. "Do not forget, 511 may have been the General's first choice, but it is not his only one. If you truly care about our future goals, there are things I should not have to tell you." He walked towards the door. "Make no mistake Gene," he said, his voice was quiet, but steely. "I may not be able to do anything about the boy, but there is something I can do."

Hartman frowned. He did not like where this was going.

Petrov continued, his eyes narrowed; "Where this …child… is concerned, you will behave. You will keep your hands to yourself, and you will keep your dick in your pants." His lips curled "Your raging libido will not be allowed to jeopardize my long years of hard work. I will be paying attention. If I ever find a single mark on his underage person that even vaguely suggests inappropriate contact… you will lose your job. I do not have to tell you that putting the project at risk is tantamount to treason. If you do anything to destroy my work, I will make sure you are given an appropriate sentence."

"There are other supervisors here besides me," protested Hartman. "And even if I could persuade them that the boy is off limits, He will be with the other boys for the most part. I cannot control what the boys choose to do in secret."

Petrov laughed outright.

"That sounds hilarious coming from you, Gene" His face hardened "But I wouldn't worry, that boy is in no danger from the others. He is the one likely to corrupt them." He cut off Hartman's next words, adding; "Even a mind such as yours must realize that not all corruption is sexual. Be careful who you choose to be his roommates. I do not have to tell you to monitor his activities as closely as possible. I am sure you've already arranged to thoroughly indulge yourself that way."

There was a reason, Hartman thought, why he truly hated this decrepit son of a bitch.

"And one more thing, Gene, it is only fair to warn you, even though I know you probably will not listen. But, once in a while, think about Emil Sebe's little book. Otto, Hans, Tomas, Johan… they were all normal men who were seduced by a monster's promise. They lost everything, even their lives, because they chose to trade with the beast." He paused thoughtfully. "Emil Sebe was a genius, you know. Pity he was Czech."

Hartman said nothing. He watched in angry silence as the older man left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

And finally, Hartman was alone in the room, separated from the sleeping boy by threats and a thin sheet of glass.

….

* * *

**Forbidden Fruit**

Hartman walked toward the mirror, he stared down.

He could see very little, and in a fit of frustrated anger, he defiantly flicked the lights back on.

The boy twitched. In his sleep, a small frown crossed his face. He turned away from the light and settled on his side, resuming his calm, even breathing.

His features were now clearly visible, one hand curled under his pillow. His hair was artlessly disheveled. His lashes left unusually long shadows on his face. His pale lips were moist and temptingly full. As Hartman watched, they parted faintly, subtly promising sensual pleasures that made him grow instantly hard.

He quickly looked away, cursing the senile bastard that was Petrov in frustration. But, unconsciously, he found himself looking up again, unable to keep his eyes away, almost helplessly drawn to the sleeping boy.

The child was just too beautiful for his own good.

And Petrov was an uptight, unreasonable, paranoid, single minded, cock-blocking asshole of an academic who was conceited enough to believe that the whole world revolved around him.

Orders be damned, he decided suddenly. He was certainly under no obligation to bow before the whims of a feeble old man.

He took a firm, decisive step towards the separating door.

If he was careful, no one would have to find out. He would not leave any marks. There were many ways of making children keep quiet, and he knew them all. At least one of them was bound to work on this boy, no matter how brilliant he was. In his experience, exposed, intelligent children were far better at keeping secrets. They understood danger far better than their uninformed counterparts.

He was reaching for the doorknob when, unexpectedly, the phone rang.

He glared resentfully at the black rotary dial phone. It jangled noisily with merry abandon, completely oblivious to the irritation he felt at it.

He could not ignore it. It could be important. Whoever was calling knew he was here. He could not afford people asking questions. His visit to the boy would just have to wait.

Angrily, he strode back to the desk and snatched up the phone.

"What!" He barked.

It was one of the junior supervisors. He sounded panicked, and breathless.

"I am sorry sir… but we tried to get the door open on time, we really did, but he pulled his dresser in front of the door…"

"You are not making any sense." Hartman said impatiently. "Stop babbling and tell me what the hell is going on."

It took the man a long time to calm down enough to speak.

"I-It's Officer Adler, Sir." He panted. "He locked himself in his room. By the time we were able to get in, he was already dead."

Hartman went still.

"Dead?"

"Yes Sir. He's hanged himself."

A cold finger of ice ran down his spine.

"Sir… Sir?"

"Have they taken down the body?" He asked quietly. His voice was carefully unreadable.

"Not yet, Sir."

"Good. I will be there shortly. Tell them not to touch anything until I arrive. "

"Yes Sir."

The man hung up. The dial tone was loud in his ear, but Hartman did not hear it.

The child was awake.

There was no way the boy could have seen anything through the glass, but impossibly, his eyes were wide open, and fixed squarely on the older man.

And as he watched, a corner of the boy's mouth moved, tilting upward in a half smile that was as cryptic as it was mocking.

The receiver slipped, unnoticed, from Hartman's grasp. It fell, noisily bouncing off the floor, startling him badly enough to make him jump backwards. He stared at it, heart pounding crazily as it swung from side to side, the dial tone loud in the silence of the room.

When he looked up again, the boy's eyes were closed. There was no sign that he had ever woken up.

No sign of that smile.

Such an unbelievably inhuman smile…

He blinked, trying to determine whether or not he had imagined it. Even if he had woken up, there was no way the boy could actually have seen him.

It might have been the phone, he realized. The child must have been gradually pulled awake by the lights, waking up completely when he heard the phone ring. He was intelligent enough to put two and two together. He probably already knew that his would-be rapist was dead.

Very quietly, Hartman picked up the receiver, carefully untangling the cord. He put it neatly back in its cradle, finally ending the loud humming of the dial tone.

Strange, how silent the room was now.

His heart was thumping, but he willed it to calm.

There was no doubt about it anymore. Petrov had been right… at least to an extent.

The boy was far more dangerous than he had given him credit for.

However, as soon as the initial horror passed, there was no anger, regret or sadness for the soldier who had killed himself. Death was a common thing in 511. The only difference was that it was a supervisor who had died this time, not a test subject. The death itself was a minor inconvenience, it was a very small price to pay for the discovery he had made.

Better Adler than him, when it came right down to it...

He glanced again at the child. The boy was asleep… or seemed asleep, safe behind the glass, half hidden under the thin covers. For the first time, he did not see beauty alone.

He saw what Petrov had seen; a caged predator, dormant after feasting on its kill.

Knowing this, however, did nothing to diminish the attraction the boy held for him. If anything, the child fascinated him even more now than he had before. The boy's brilliance, his ruthlessness, and the danger hidden behind his deceptively calm smile were more exciting than docile subservience. His lust was still as compelling as ever, but it was now mingled with the awed fascination of a hunter regarding a magnificent and powerful beast of prey.

There was no beast he was aware of that could not be tamed… eventually.

The sudden thought of this boy reclined on his bed, welcoming, willing, inviting… perhaps even craving his touch aroused him sharply. It was an outcome that would be worth waiting for.

Seduction had its merits.

It would take time and patience, but it was something he knew he could do.

Hartman was never the sort of man to run from a challenge.

And so, on his way out, he left the blazing lights on.

* * *

…

**Price for sin**

In normal circumstances, once new boys had been registered and processed, they were immediately assigned rooms and sent out of Block 5. The entire procedure took about a week at most.

It had been three weeks, and the new boy was still in Block 5.

The boys of 511 noticed. The legend of the new boy had already spread. There was a barely suppressed sense of excitement in the air. The story of how he had driven one of their most feared abusers to hang himself had been told, re-told and in most cases, grossly exaggerated. The boys who had seen him told incredibly tall tales about his appearance and exploits. The boys who had not seen him anxiously waited for him to be let out so that they would. Those who still believed in such things seemed half convinced that the new boy was some sort of messiah-superhero. The general violence grew worse. The instructors were ruthless in dealing with the more rebellious boys. Anarchy reigned and the already alarming death rate increased to impossible levels. However, some of the wiser group leaders, like 19, were more cautious. They kept their members in strict order and waited for the storm to pass.

19 had been in 511 long enough not to let his group get caught up in all the excitement. Even though the chaos had its uses, his view of the situation was bleakly realistic.

"He's brilliantly insane; the craziest goddamned son of a bitch I have seen in years, but he's just another kid." He told his group. "And you'll be some idiotically naïve dick-licks if you let yourselves believe that anything will change. Think about it for a minute. So he killed one of them, big fucking deal. They've got him by the balls now, same as they've got all of us. Trust me; this rotten cesspool's the motherfucking pearly gates compared to what those sadistic assholes are doing to him right now. If they are smart, they won't set him free to instigate insurrections and shit. They'll probably kill the poor bastard. Or send his crazy ass off to some other orphanage. I would. And so would you if you were them. We have to be smart. Make sure you stay the fuck away from trouble. However, this does not mean you are allowed to sit around and jack off. Take every chance you get to establish some fucking dominance. If any of those yeasty pussies decides he wants to mess with us, you have full and complete authority to mutilate his cock sucking ass."

In all the excitement, 37's input was very conspicuously absent. He voiced no opinion no matter how hard the other boys pressed him to. However, privately, his views were not very different from 19's.

37 was worried.

The irony of it did not escape him. He had wanted the new boy to suffer. He had wanted to see him thoroughly humiliated for wounding him enough to make him cry.

But that did not mean he wanted the boy to get killed.

But more surprisingly, his fear that the other boy would be killed was not his only troubling concern. Anything could be done to a boy in Block 5. No one asked questions. The same was true of the entire 511, but at least here, if you were smart, you stayed with your group, and together you could try to avoid certain dangers. There, you were alone, utterly helpless in the territory of the major predators, and completely at their mercy.

He knew this from personal experience. He had been sent there before. There were worse things than being starved and beaten. He had learned that the hard way.

Group leader or not, there were no special children in Kinderheim 511.

And the thing they hated the most was insubordination. They let you keep whatever authority you managed to get as long as you fully understood who was in charge. If you showed any sign of defiance or pride, they very thoroughly crushed it out of you.

He remembered weeks of being locked up, starved and beaten. Then of trying not disgrace himself by crying as supervisors and strangers he did not know held him down and repeatedly forced themselves inside him until he bled. He had been abused before, but this was a thousand times worse. He remembered constantly trying not to throw up, failing again and again, and having to stay locked in the windowless room surrounded by the smells of semen and vomit and sweat, urine and blood. His worst memory was the last day of his punishment, when they had injected him with something that had completely broken him. The drug… whatever it was, had made him unbearably, painfully hard. He had had erections before and never really thought much about them. Even babies had them sometimes. But that had been the first time in this life that he had had one that was triggered directly by sexual excitement... drug induced or not. He had been only six. To him, the intense sensations the drugs aroused had been far more terrifying than pleasant. He had been so desperate for it to just stop that he had begged the very supervisor he had insulted for mercy. He had actually sucked the man off, like a starving whore, while the other men watched and laughed at his humiliation.

There were worse things than being starved or beaten.

He had been sent to Block 5 and forced to endure all that for spitting in Instructor Ostermann's face. He could not imagine how grave the punishment would be for actually killing a supervisor.

For reasons he did not want to analyze, the idea of those people… touching the new boy like that, drugging him, and perhaps keeping him in Block 5 so that they could all keep using him… was unbearably difficult for 37 to endure. It upset him, nauseated him and angered him, in equal degrees.

He had no idea why he hated the thought of it so intensely. If it were any other person, he would not have particularly cared.

But that boy was different. He had felt it in his gut. There were some things that were not supposed to be… profaned.

And so he had taken to sneaking out, every evening he could, to loiter around Block 5. He ignored his group members and carried out his responsibilities in the most perfunctory manner. He had never been a very open person to begin with, but now he was moody as well as taciturn, and far more dangerous to cross. Everyone noticed his restlessness, his distraction. Some of the boys in his group plotted to use the opportunity to get rid of him, watching for the best chance to strike.

As it turned out, it was 19 that saved his life; and he did it by breaking his nose.

"Take a look around you, dumbass. Unpack your fucking brains and use them." He said casually, and then walked away before 37 even had time to react.

That piece of advice also helped him put things in perspective.

If he was going to have any peace of mind, he had to get inside the building. He had to see the boy

And so, instead of just loitering, he paid 26 a visit.

As soon as 26 saw him, he knew what he wanted.

"Hell no! I am not sneaking you in." He vetoed instantly. "That part of the building is off limits to me."

That did not stop 37 from trying. 26 had come to expect his constant visits. He often advised him against being so foolish.

"This obsession is going to get you into serious trouble." He admonished. "Even worse, you will get _me_ in trouble too. You should give this up. There is nothing you can do."

But 37 was nothing if not extremely stubborn. Every day, after their work was done, he would invariably end up in front of Block 5. Waiting.

Inevitably, 26 yielded far enough to tell him what he knew.

"I don't think they will go as far as killing him. From what I have overheard, I doubt they will even send him away. They keep saying how important he is to their 'project'. I overheard Mr. Petrov and Mr. Hartmann arguing about it. Mr. Petrov wanted them to send him away. But Mr. Hartman refused, so he is going to stay. But I have no doubt that he is being punished. They've locked him inside _that_ room. "

37 froze.

"Still, He is lucky. I don't think anyone's allowed to touch him. Mr. Petrov's ordered…"

"How do I get in?"

"What?"

"I want to get inside. How do I get in?"

"I've already told you…"

"I am not asking you to take me in. This is my business. I will not get you in trouble for it. Just tell me what I need to do."

"You really don't need to do this, Mr. Petrov said…"

"Since when does Hartman listen to anything he says?"

26 was silent for a very long time.

"Even if I let you inside," he asked mildly "what can you do?"

The other boy did not reply. His eyes fell.

"He has been locked up. You know what that means. They take him to the clinic in the mornings for their experiments, but other than that, he stays locked inside the room. They will probably be monitoring him. So you can't get in to see him or give him anything. It is possible he is being starved. Maybe the supervisors pay him 'visits', maybe not. It doesn't matter because you can't stop them. Instead, you'll probably get yourself in trouble right along with him. "

"If they take him to the clinic, then it should be possible to see him. Just tell me when, that's all I ask."

26's face hardened immediately. All signs of his earlier attempts at sympathy vanished.

"I won't do it."

"But…"

"You are asking me to go into classified files. That's even worse than asking me to sneak you in. Do you have any idea what they would do to me if I got caught?"

"You won't get caught." 37 stated firmly. "You never do." His gaze was quietly relentless. He clearly had no intention of backing down."You have something you want in return, I am sure of it. Tell me what it is."

26 considered him for a while, then made up his mind.

"The Night Supervisor told me to see him tonight." 26 said simply. "Graveyard shift. Replace me, and I'll find what you are looking for."

37's heart sank.

The one thing he hated most…

And he was backed into a corner; there was no room for negotiation on the matter.

Still, he examined the other boy. 26 was taller, leaner and more angular, with fairer skin and curly brown hair. 37 was not as tall or angular. His body already showed more muscle than bone. His face was more tanned, and his hair was far lighter.

"No one would fall for that. We don't even look alike" he pointed out. It was a weak attempt to wriggle out of it, but it was worth a shot.

"True." 26 said simply. "But I am sure he'd prefer you."

37's eyes widened. That only meant one thing.

Ostermann was on going to be on night duty.

37 did not speak. He could not say a word. Unconsciously, he started hyperventilate, breaking into a cold sweat. His hands started to shake as bile rose to the back of his throat. He had to force back a sudden, compelling urge to throw up.

Very few people in Kinderhiem 511 could really frighten 37. Ostermann happened to be one of them.

"Still interested?" 26 asked drily.

37 stared at him blankly.

"I didn't think so."

The mocking complacency in his voice annoyed 37 enough to snap him out of his paralyzing terror. Without thinking, he punched the older boy in the face.

Taken completely by surprise, the 26 was unable to dodge the attack. He staggered backwards and fell, landing hard with his butt on the cold concrete.

"God! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

He knew, from the taste in his mouth and the sudden pain that the blow had cut his lower lip. Cradling his jaw, he seriously hoped the little son of a bitch had not broken any of his teeth as well. He spat out blood and glared at the younger boy.

The kid had a damned strong punch for someone his age. Not surprising, physical education in Kinderhiem was not a joke.

37 was still trembling. His thin lips were compressed in an even thinner line. His eyes were narrowed in unconcealed fury. But looking at them, 26 suddenly understood.

There were tears standing in those eyes. But 37 was stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

In 511, Anger was a safer reaction than pain. So pain became aggression… it did not matter who the victim was, as long as there was an outlet for the pain. You found someone to hurt until the numbness set in and you were able to forget, at least for a while.

But the pain was always there, it always came back, no matter what you did.

26 understood it very well.

His smile was lazy, and cold.

"You want me to stick my neck out, so I expect you to stick yours out too." he drawled scornfully and stood up, carefully dusting the back of his pants. "Fair's fair. You are getting the better end of this deal, you know."

37 looked away.

"I hate that man." He murmured, by way of an apology.

"It's been almost two years now, hasn't it?" 26 was ruthless. "I suggest you grow up and get over it." His voice was carefully nonchalant. "Worse things have happened. You are not the only one it was done to. They've used those drugs on all of us. You know that. Your little boyfriend's not going to be any different." The look in his eyes was challenging. "Mke up your mind and don't waste my time. How important is this information to you?"

37 quickly wiped his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, shoved his hands deep inside his pockets, and looked up.

"I'll be here tonight." He said grimly. "Graveyard shift starts ten, right?"

"You are actually going to do it?"

"I pay my dues, asshole."

26 looked rather surprised. Then a grudging respect filtered into his eyes.

"You are a complete idiot you know."

37 thought of the person he was doing this for; a boy he had not so much as talked to, who had even quietly snubbed him; a boy who might not even remember him at all.

"Yes." agreed 37 quietly. "I know."

…

**

* * *

**

**In the Wilderness**

_...she was laughing. Her eyes were bright as she ran around the field of wildflowers. The sunlight turned her hair into gold._

_Colors were so strangely vivid around her; bright and unreal, like pages in a children's storybook. _

_They hurt his eyes, made them water._

_Fairytale princesses, shiny castles…_

_Hungry, hungry monsters..._

It was not just his eyes that hurt. His throat still hurt, from all the screaming.

But he wouldn't think of the pain. It only hurt if he acknowledged that it was there.

They wore long white coats and severe expressions. He had seen the type before, so many times back at the Red Rose Mansion, surrounding Mother's bed, watching them, taking notes.

He was under punishment, so he was not allowed to speak. He had tried. They shot something up his arm.

That was when the pain, the dizzying nausea started, and the colors began to hurt his eyes. He could not stop his body from shivering. He shook even harder when his clothes were removed, barely noticing the surprisingly gentle hands that dressed him in the rough cotton of the hospital gown, and helped him to the table to lie down.

The table was cold. The straps were colder. The lights overhead shone directly in his face, blazing without apology as the gentle hands moved, efficiently taping electrodes to his body.

This was an experiment. They had said. Just like that time… with mother.

"No anesthesia for you, unfortunately. It seems you have been a very wicked little boy."

And then there was more pain. Sudden, harsh and blinding.

They broke something under his nose. It had a sickeningly sweet smell… rather like rotten apples.

They hadn't done that before. Funny.

Suddenly his whole body tingled, relaxing. He felt very pleasantly warm and strangely euphoric.

The pain was still there. But it did not matter anymore. Best of all, now he could see her more clearly.

_She was wearing the light blue summer dress the general had bought the weekend after he had picked them up. He had bought him a shirt that was the exact same shade of blue._

"_You can't dress alike, for obvious reasons," he had said "but you are twins, so this much is appropriate, I think." _

_The irony had made him smile, back then._

_Her hair was down; because he was not there to put them up in the pigtails she usually wore._

"_Older brother, you came back?" she broke into a wide smile but then her face grew puzzled._

"_This is the third time today." Her voice was worried. "Are you sure everything is alright? What are they doing to you? I wish you would let me see…" _

"_Not today." He said firmly, "Another day, I think."_

"_Why?" She pouted. "Not fair. I show you everything. Why can't you show me?"_

"_It isn't interesting."_

The hands were on him again. It was a nurse. A woman, he realized with some surprise. That was why her hands had been so gentle.

Clearly, they were not regular staff. Had they been called in?

He wondered if she was a mother. It was hard to tell with a figure like hers. It was clear she often worked with children. But there was something about the gentle way she had touched him… A longing sadness that reminded him of Aunt Helenka, who always visited with smiles and hugs and candy for 'the twins,' and who looked at them with such deep sadness in her eyes. Aunt Helenka, who always hugged them as though she wished that they were her own.

The way this woman touched him was the same… with that tender, wistful melancholy that indicated she also might have lost a child of her own.

He wished he could ask. Her story would have been very interesting... and useful.

It would have distracted him from this pain a little, at the very least.

She leaned over him to adjust the electrode on his right temple. She smelled like flowers, and vanilla, and musk and female and other earthier, more interesting, elusively familiar things. The sweet scent of flowers and vanilla underlined that other primal, more organic, almost recognizable smell.

"_What is that smell?"_

Were nurses usually allowed to wear perfume? He wondered. Was this all perfume?

"_A woman." he replied.  
_

Her hand absently stroked his head, and then she moved over to adjust the other. Her eyes were strangely distant. Like him, she was not quite there.

He wondered who she talked to inside her head. The child she had lost perhaps?

"_What does she look like? I can't see."_

Her face was still young. She was slender and beautiful in a classic, chiseled sport of way. Her lips were painted a very deep red.

"_Blonde, like mother. But her eyes are green."_

He stared at her in fascination.

Her smell was strangely exciting, strangely heady.

It was then that it clicked; the memory of where he'd perceived that sort of scent before.

It often hung around Aunt Helenka, the days she had come to visit straight from work, exhausted, sweaty and unwashed. It was not very obvious but he could always make it out when she bent down to hug him and offer him his own share of candy.

"Really Helenka" Mother would always say, marching her into the bathroom. "I have children in the house, you know."

The smell of recent sex

Her fingers lingered on his face.

"What are you trying to do, seduce the patient?" A masculine voice teased. But there was an edge to it that indicated that the man was not actually joking.

Her sexual partner, apparently. Six full feet of domineering, jealous, territory marking, laughably insecure male.

Adults were such_ funny_ creatures.

"Really sir" She replied, laughing softly. "He isn't old enough for that. It's just," Her voice grew softer, more wistful, "Sebastian might have looked like this… if he survived…"

He absolutely enjoyed being right.

"_What are you smiling at, Older Brother?"_

"_Nothing really. The blonde, I suppose."_

She had moved back. Her mildly intoxicating scent was no longer filling his nostrils.

Clearly she did not want to upset the man she slept with.

"_Is she a nice lady?"_

_Was sleeping with the boss any indication? He wondered drily_

"_Hard to say" He replied. "The evidence indicates that she might be rather naughty."_

"_What are you babbling about now?"_

Skin pale as snow. Lips red as blood...

"_You don't want to know, Trust me."_

"_You and your silly little secrets..."_

He idly wondered how Sebastian had died. She probably would like to see her son again.

It might be nice to help her with that.

"_Is she kind?"_

_Kind? _

_How sweet she was, so thoughtfully and compassionately sticking electrodes around his head… _

_He smiled drily. _

"_Not really, but…"_

He broke off.

"_But What?"_

He was thinking of fairy tales again.

She would not look very different as a corpse, lying in a glass coffin, surrounded by roses, red and white.

"_Older brother, can you hear me?"_

Lips pale as snow. Blood, red as… blood. Red as only blood could be…

Stupid drugs, whatever they were, making him think such inane things.

" _She's very pretty."_

"_Pretty?"_

"_Yes." He confirmed, with a smile that meant so much more than the word could convey._

_His sister scrunched up her face._

"_Boys!" She tossed her blonde head in disgust. "Really, is that all you can think about?"_

_He smiled. _

"_She isn't prettier than you, just… developed." _

"_That was not the point, and eww, by the way. _

_He laughed._

"Amyl nitrate…" "Patient responsive…" "Apparently quite effective"… "Clear indication of successful dissociation…"

"_You know, something happened after you left." She said "Don't laugh, but I learned two new songs."_

"_They teach you people songs there?"_

"_Hey, you said you wouldn't' laugh! And no, they were not teaching us. They were teaching the kindergarteners. I was helping, so I happened to learn them too."_

Another capsule was broken under his nose. The nurse leaned over him again with a face towel.

"_What is it like?" _

"_It's a little silly" She warned._

"_I don't mind, I want to hear."_

The towel smelled like lemons, contrasting a little unpleasantly with the perfume the nurse wore.

He wrinkled his nose

"_Your funeral." She warned drily "then she sang, very softly…_

_Zwischen Berg und tiefem, tiefem tal  
saßen einst zwei Hasen,  
fraßen ab das grüne, grüne Gras,  
fraßen ab das grüne, grüne Gras,  
bis auf den Rasen.  
_

_{Between mountain and deep, deep valley  
There were once two rabbits,  
They ate green, green grass,  
They ate green, green grass,  
From the lawn}_

The nurse dipped the towel in warm water, and then squeezed it out. She began wiping down his neck.

"_Rabbits?"  
"Don't talk till the song is over." She ordered sternly, and then continued._

_Als sie sich dann satt gefressen hatten,  
Setzten sie sich nieder,  
Bis dass der Jäger kam  
Bis dass der Jäger kam,  
Und schoss sie nieder.  
_

_{When they were well-fed,  
They sat down,  
Till the hunter came,  
Till the hunter came,  
And shot them down.}_

"_Hmm…" he began._

"_Shh" She ordered.  
_

_Als sie sich dann aufgesammelt hatten,  
Und sie sich besannen,__Dass sie noch am Leben warn,  
Dass sie noch am Leben warn,  
Liefen sie von dannen. _

_{When they had gathered up,  
And they had considered,  
That they were still alive,  
That they were still alive,  
They ran away.}_

"_Completely unrealistic. There is no way those rabbits could have survived."_

_Predictably, his words upset her._

"_Do you always have to nitpick? Seriously, it's so annoying. And you've entirely missed the point." Her eyes clouded. She sighed. "I am glad the rabbits were safe in the end, no matter what you say."_

_We were those little rabbits once, weren't we? How typical of her, to insist on a happy ending where none could be found._

_He could not hide the ironic smile that twisted his mouth._

_Still, one of them was safe. That was enough for now._

"_May I hear the second song?"_

"_No."_

"_Please?"_

"_No. You'll just laugh at it."_

"_I won't. I promise."_

_She eyed him skeptically, and then launched into the song without preamble._

_Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär,  
Und auch zwei Flüglein hätt,  
Flög ich zu dir  
Weils aber nicht kann sein  
Weils aber nicht kann sein,  
Bleib ich allhier  
_

_{If I were a little bird  
And had two little wings,  
I'd fly to you.  
But as it can't be  
But as it can't be,  
I always stay here.}  
_

_Bin ich gleich weit von dir,  
Bin ich doch im Traum bei dir  
Und red mit dir.  
Wenn ich erwachen tu,  
Wenn ich erwachen tu,  
Bin ich allein. _

_{I'm also far from you,  
I'm by your side in dreams  
And I talk to you.  
When I wake up,  
When I wake up,  
I'm on my own.}_

_Es vergeht kein Stund in der Nacht,  
Dass nicht mein Herz erwacht  
Und an dich denkt,  
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,  
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,  
Dein Herz geschenkt._

_{There is no hour in the night,  
In which my heart doesn't wake up  
And think of you,  
That, more than a thousand times,  
That, more than a thousand times,  
You give your heart to me.}_

_"I already know what you are going to say." she narrowed her eyes and lowered the pitch of her voice, which uncannily made her to look and sound exactly like him. 'Maudlin and excessively sappy,' right?"  
_

_She looked at his face. It was as expressionless as ever, but had turned a very interesting shade of pink. His eyes were suspiciously shiny._

_She stared, surprised. _

"_Wait, you actually liked it?" she smiled, and then her smile morphed into laughter. "I can't believe it. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone how secretly sentimental you are." _

"_I am not."_

"_Yes you are. You cry very easily for a boy, and at the oddest things." _

_He said nothing, merely turned his face away._

_She sat beside him, put her head on his shoulder._

_She smelled fresh, familiar, comforting. Clean like soap and talcum powder. Her skin was smooth and warm and made him shiver._

_He liked this scent better than the nurse's._

"Interesting series of reactions." One of the white coats observed, furiously scribbling something down on his clipboard. Other white coats gathered around the first, staring at their clipboards, then at the boy, making notes, debating questions about thresholds and sine wave stimuli and bilateral ETC and dose titration and the possibility of amyl nitrate compromising the results.

"_You shouldn't be so embarrassed you know. I think it's sweet that you do that. You are human. That's all it means. I am glad you liked the song. It is very popular here too. Most of the others have someone they miss, too. It's easy to make friends here. Have you made any friends yet, Older Brother? _

"_No, not yet."_

"_Goodness, try to be a little more social, won't you? It does help to have people around you."_

The nurse moved about as the doctors discussed. She removed the electrodes, then gave him a quick injection . "To help you sleep." she explained. "There won't be any more," she promised, "at least not today."

"_I have to go now" he said softly. "I'll be back"_

_She nodded. Her hair tickled his neck. He closed his eyes._

"_Okay. Tomorrow?"_

"_Yes. And later today, I think" He paused, opening his eyes to look at her. "You don't mind, do you?"_

"_Don't be silly, how could I?" She smiled, but then the smile faltered. "I have no idea what is happening to you. But…"_

The nurse had removed his restraints. She was tucking him in, as carefully as though he had been her own son.

She must have loved that child. How strange...

"…_You are all I have left, so please… be safe…"_

"_I will try. I promise."_

Then, he was fully back inside his head. Back in the hospital.

The pain was excruciating, but luckily, the urge to sleep was already stealing over his senses.

It was over, for today, at least.

Two more days to go. Just two more.

The boy closed his eyes, and gratefully fell asleep.

….

* * *

.

**Son of the Morning**

"_You will know they are done" 26 had said, "when the screaming stops."_

37 watched as one by one, the doctors began to file out of the room.

"_There will be a team of five," 26 had said. "Three new Doctors, one Military Physician and a Registered Nurse. An orphanage physician should also be there."_

37 counted the party as they filed out of the room, recalling 26's instructions as he watched the team leave.

So far so good.

"_The boy will be given drugs to ensure that his condition is stable. After some time, he will be brought back to Block 5. There will be a ten minute interval during which no one is likely to be inside the room with him. Target that time. You might be able to talk with him before he falls asleep."_

26 had better have been right about that, He thought.

Getting into the clinic had not been difficult at all. It was very easy to get yourself beaten to the point of near incapacitation in a place like 511. That was what morning exercises were for. All you had to do was pick the wrong opponent. The tricky part was to avoid getting killed when your opponent became very enthusiastic.

His whole body felt, as 19 would have so colorfully put it, like shit in a blender. But even the thorough beating had done nothing to take his mind away from the humiliation he felt after last night. His skin still crawled, his butt hurt like the devil, and no amount of brushing had been able to wash the taste and smell of that filthy man away from his mouth.

And the things the man had said were worse than the degrading things 37 had been made to do.

The information had better be worth it, or there would be hell to pay.

Looking about him carefully, he began to move, silently cursing the limp that slowed him down as he walked.

Ten minutes was not a lot of time.

Finally, he made it. He took a deep breath, and then he pushed the door open.

The new boy was asleep. He was impossibly paler than he had been before, and had clearly lost an unhealthy amount of weight. Angry red patches of skin showed where the electrodes had been placed. There were dark circles under his eyes. His breathing was labored, stertorous, as if the very act of drawing air in caused him indescribable pain.

He looked like a ghost.

Carefully, 37 walked to the sleeping boy's side.

He was here now, but he had no idea what to do.

How ironic.

He hated seeing the other boy like this. At this rate, the boy was going to die.

And yet his beauty was undeniable; far more compelling.

It occurred to him that this was how Hartman liked his boys; beautiful, thin to the point of anorexia, broken by pain, submissive, and helpless to fight back while he forced them.

Hartman, Ostermann, He honestly wished he was strong enough to kill them both.

But he was not giving up hope. Not yet. The thing he had seen in this boy's eyes would not be broken so easily. Not by this.

He needed him to survive. He had his dreams, the things he wanted to become. He knew, instinctively, that this boy was the only chance he would probably have of making it out of this hellhole alive.

"Hey." He prodded the boy's bony shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

The boy did not move.

He had been drugged. Clearly, this was going to take a while.

Sighing, he let go and looked at the round, white clock on the wall.

Seven more minutes.

He reached out to try again.

Before his fingers made contact, the sleeping boy's hand darted out.

The reflexive movement was unexpectedly precise. It was the same precision he had displayed that night, weeks ago, while repeatedly evading the enraged officer's attacks.

His grip, even in his weakened state, was surprisingly very strong. Instinctively, 37 pulled back, trying to break free, but the other boy did not loosen his hold at all.

He opened his mouth to protest, looked up, and froze.

The new boy's eyes were wide open. They were clear, unforgiving, icy, and fixed squarely on 37. The killing intent in them was unmistakable.

"_Electroshock messes with the victims head." 26 had said. "So if you do manage to wake him up, be very careful. Do not expect that he will remember you."_

Frantically, he tried twisting his hand free.

The other boy's grip became impossibly tighter.

No eight year old was supposed to have this sort of grip. It was unbelievable.

Unwittingly, he remembered the whispers and rumors he had heard, as well as the deceased supervisor's remarks about this boy being 'specially bred'.

It had sounded ridiculous at the time, but now those rumors made a frightening amount of sense.

What the hell did that mean exactly? He thought wildly in panic. They said he had been 'bred', not 'made'. So clearly, he was not some Robot or some weird sort of Super Cyborg. He was enough of a realist to know that those things were stupid and only existed in cartoons, no matter how much he might have secretly wished that they did in real life.

Wait a minute…

He could not believe this. His extreme panic had had actually made him regress to thinking in this completely childish manner.

Still, this train of thought had given him an idea.

"You aren't some sort of mutant, are you?" He asked, with a very straight face.

The new boy blinked, taken aback.

The best part of it was that he was not acting. He truly wanted to know, though he probably would have asked the question a bit more like the prodigy he was if the situation was normal.

"I mean, they did say you were 'bred'. That means that you came from two people like the rest of us. I suppose it works the same as with puppies?"

The new Boy was studying him, almost as though he could not quite believe what he was hearing.

"If you want puppies of a certain breed, cross two dogs of that breed. If you want puppies with strong bones and short fur, cross two dogs with strong bones and short fur, or maybe one with each and hope for the best. That rule would apply to humans as well, right?"

The corners of his mouth were actually beginning to twitch. He loosened his grip, much to 37's relief.

"Basic strategy." 37 explained. "Make your opponent underestimate you. Get him when his guard is down. I used it pretty well, didn't I? Unless I miss my guess, you are someone who has done this many times before."

The new boy made no attempt to affirm or deny the point.

"I am 37. You have a number yet?"

"41." He replied. His voice was low and unusually hoarse… possibly from all the screaming.

"You probably don't remember me, but…"

"I do." 41 said. "You are more interesting than I had thought."

37 went still.

The boy had actually remembered him, without any prompting… remembered him and apologized.

37 was not sure whether that actually counted as an apology. Frankly, he was too happy to care.

However, the small smile that lifted a corner of his mouth was the only outward sign he gave of this emotion.

41 smiled back. 37 looked away immediately. He really hoped his face was not turning red.

"You wanted to tell me something?" prompted 41. His voice was very gentle. But there was something about it that compelled 37 to look up, to maintain eye contact.

The blue eyes were strangely unnerving. His gaze was open, curious, even friendly, but those eyes... were... difficult to look at.

"I… well… You are new here, and things can be… rather difficult… for newcomers. So, you can come to me … if there is anything you need..." 37 was growing more embarrassed by the minute. This was not how he had wanted this to sound. He got up, completely furious with himself. "They will come for you soon," he said abruptly. "I should go now. "

"Wait."

He paused at the door, looked back.

"Thank you."

He hesitated, then made up his mind.

"I will be back tomorrow."

41 just smiled.

37 blushed vividly and left, abruptly shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he was safely out of sight, he set loose the huge grin that had been threatening to overwhelm him.

Just a little more time, he thought, and the two of them would own this rotten place.

* * *

Authors notes:

There, all done. Please forgive any technical flaws you may find. I did some research, buy heaven knows I am no expert.

Also, Some of you already noticed this, but artistic license has been taken with a particular character's age. Why? :) Because I simply could not write about 511 without him, and also because writing him is a guilty pleasure of mine.

Reviews are love...

Thanks for reading!


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